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Well… this wasn’t exactly how I imagined making this announcement.

But surprise — I’m pregnant.

And not in the cute “we found out at 5 weeks and cried over tiny blueberry-sized baby apps” kind of way. No. Apparently my child believes in dramatic entrances only.

I found out on April 4th. Doctors confirmed it on April 14th. Then one week later I went in for my first ultrasound expecting maybe a tiny gummy bear situation…

…and they told me I was already 17 weeks pregnant.

SEVENTEEN.

Excuse me??? You mean to tell me I speedran the first trimester without even knowing it existed? I didn’t get the slow emotional build-up. I didn’t get the “OMG I’m pregnant” moment. I got launched directly into second trimester chaos like a contestant on a medical game show.

And now I’m currently 19 weeks pregnant, sitting here wondering how I somehow skipped the tutorial level of pregnancy entirely.

To make things even more exciting, I also immediately found out I’m high risk.

Which means doctors constantly tell me:
“Don’t stress.”

I would LOVE to know how I’m supposed to do that because currently my brain rotates through:

• Is the baby okay?
• Am I gonna be a good parent?
• Why does every appointment feel terrifying?
• Why do I suddenly have 900 doctor visits?
• Why does pregnancy feel like being drafted into a survival reality show?

I have to go to the doctor every single week now, which is honestly not how I pictured my first pregnancy going. Everyone online makes pregnancy look like glowy selfies and fruit comparisons.

Meanwhile I’m over here like:
Today the baby is the size of a mango and I am the size of a nervous breakdown.

And because the universe apparently thought this storyline needed more drama…

I also have to move.

Right now.

While pregnant.

Because this is the downside of renting from a private owner instead of a leasing company, apparently. So now, on top of trying to survive a high-risk pregnancy, I also get to experience the joy of figuring out housing while exhausted 24/7.

Love that for me.

Honestly, I’m just tired. Physically tired. Emotionally tired. Mentally tired. The kind of tired where even deciding what to eat feels like a group project.

And I don’t really know what’s going to happen next.

But I do know this:
There’s a tiny little human in here already turning my entire life upside down, and despite all the fear and stress and chaos… I already love them more than anything.

So yeah.

Hi.

Baby Bunny is on the way!

Going into the Met Gala 2026, I had a very specific vision. With the theme “Costume Art,” I wasn’t just hoping for pretty dresses—I wanted full transformation. Sculptures. Storytelling. A red carpet that felt like a living, breathing museum.

And honestly? I kind of got exactly that.

Some of the standout looks fully matched what I had imagined. Heidi Klum showing up as a literal statue? That’s exactly the “breathing sculpture” energy I was craving. Janelle Monáe leaning into an almost AI-meets-nature concept—like a living tree or moss-covered figure—blurred the line between body and art in the best way. And Lisa incorporating extra arms pulled directly from performance and traditional art references made the human body feel like a canvas.

There were also moments where fashion literally became art materials. Sabrina Carpenter wearing a gown made from actual film felt like something straight out of a gallery installation. And across the carpet, there were sculptural silhouettes, metallic body pieces, and even skeletal-inspired designs—like Beyoncé’s dramatic look—pushing the idea of the body as structure and art form. (Business Insider)

But here’s where reality didn’t fully match my expectations.

I thought we’d see more direct references to art history—specific paintings, sculptures, or time periods clearly translated into fashion. And while some guests did pull from those ideas, a lot of the carpet leaned into bold color, abstraction, and visual impact instead. Bright, painterly hues and dramatic shapes dominated, sometimes feeling more like a contemporary art exhibit than a curated historical one. (Vogue)

Even the carpet itself leaned into the concept—literally designed like a painted, moss-covered garden path to make guests look like they were stepping into a work of art. (Vogue)

And maybe that’s not a bad thing.

Because what this year proved is that fashion can be art—even when it’s messy, abstract, or open to interpretation. It wasn’t the perfectly structured “history of the body through fashion” moment I imagined, but it was bold, theatrical, and fully committed to the idea that the red carpet itself is a gallery.

And honestly? That still feels like a win.

I did not expect this week to turn into complete chaos, but here we are—my dog just had puppies, and I am barely holding it together. Seven puppies. Seven. Tiny, squeaky, constantly-moving little creatures that now depend on us for everything.

This was my first time ever witnessing a dog give birth, and honestly, it was way more intense than I imagined. People always talk about how “beautiful” it is, but no one really prepares you for how stressful, messy, and, at times, terrifying it can be. I was pacing, googling everything, second-guessing whether things were normal, and wondering if I was about to need an emergency vet visit at any second. It’s an experience I can confidently say I never want to repeat. To be completely real, I even threw up three times—the smell alone was overwhelming and something I was absolutely not prepared for.

To make things even more overwhelming, my dog isn’t even a year old yet. I keep worrying that she doesn’t fully know what she’s doing, which makes me feel like I have to watch everything even more closely. She’s trying, and I can tell she’s figuring it out as she goes, but it adds another layer of stress to an already intense situation.

Now that they’re here, the real work has started. The puppies are adorable—there’s no denying that—but they require constant attention. Making sure they’re all feeding, staying warm, and not getting squished has turned into a full-time job. Sleep? Basically nonexistent. Quiet time? Gone.

And now it’s after midnight, and exhaustion is really setting in. At this point, it almost feels like I’m just hoping everything turns out okay and that the puppies pull through the night. It’s a harsh thought, but it’s where my brain is after everything today.

My dog is doing her best, and I’m proud of her, but I feel completely overwhelmed. I didn’t realize how much responsibility came with this. Everyone loves the idea of puppies, but living it is something else entirely.

I’m hoping things get easier as the days go on, but right now, I’m just trying to survive the chaos… and maybe get a nap in somewhere.

Okay so—hi, hello, welcome back to the chaotic sitcom that is my life. It’s April 19th. THE 19TH. And somehow this month has already packed the emotional equivalent of, like, six Novembers and a tax season.

Also, quick side note: this was *supposed* to be the month I wrote every single day. Like, “new month, new me, consistent, thriving, journaling queen” energy. And yet… here we are. Seventeen days in and I’m just now checking in like a student who forgot the assignment existed. So that’s going great. Love the follow-through. Truly inspiring stuff.

First plot twist: apparently my body has decided to start a side quest into ✨prediabetes✨. Love that for me. I’ve been trying—truly, gold star effort—eating healthier, making better choices, adding fruit like I’m starring in my own wellness rebrand… only to find out that maybe I’ve been a little *too* enthusiastic with the fruit bowl. Who knew trying to be healthy could backfire like that? Not me, a fool, standing in the kitchen with a banana like it betrayed me personally.

Meanwhile, work has me feeling like the human version of a “miscellaneous” drawer. You know, the one with batteries, a random key, and three pens that don’t work? Yeah. That’s me. I’m the filler person. Need someone to plug a gap? That’s me. Need someone to shift plans last minute? Also me. And it’s getting…old. Like, how am I supposed to plan my own life when my schedule is basically written in pencil by someone else?

And then, because the universe said “let’s really commit to the bit,” I’m officially giving up on school. Again. But this time it feels different—like, capital-D Done. Not dramatic, just…real. I didn’t pay the acceptance fee in time (turns out money is required for that, rude), and between everything else going on, it just wasn’t happening.

Which brings me to the final plot twist: my dog is pregnant. Yes. We are expecting. I am not emotionally prepared, financially thriving, or logistically organized—but we *are* expecting. So if anyone has ever dreamed of owning a German Shepherd puppy… hi, hello, this is your moment. Please come get one. Or five.

So yeah. It’s been a month. And we’re only halfway through. At this point I’m just holding on, eating my slightly controversial fruit, and waiting to see what the rest of April has planned—preferably something calm, but honestly I wouldn’t bet on it.